Ziad EzzatZiad Ezzat is a graphic designer and web developer with a degree in Economics. Wait, what?

Based in scenic Oakland, California, he currently works as Creative Director for an asset management firm in downtown San Francisco.

In addition to design and monies, his interests include books, music, motorcycling, photography, travel, cats, and oxford commas.


(415) 692-1974

Oakland, California

Résumé: [ pdf | html | docx | rtf ]



All posts in Funny

Someone once said give a dog food and shelter and treats and they think you are a god, but give a cat the same and they think they are the god.
Steven Rowley — Lily and the Octopus

In case you haven’t noticed, I’m really, really enjoying Adobe Spark

Testing out #AdobeSpark. pic.twitter.com/NmlXHje9A5 — Ziad (@ziad4pope) October 18, 2016 City of Brotherly Love #AdobeSpark pic.twitter.com/ItkKPWAWsL — Ziad (@ziad4pope) October 18, 2016 It's a fair question. #AdobeSpark https://t.co/VlensWQFpz — Ziad (@ziad4pope) October 18, 2016 Leveraging social touchpoints. #AdobeSpark https://t.co/DZIP8LG9tf — Ziad (@ziad4pope) October 18, 2016 Your mileage may vary. #AdobeSpark https://t.co/aKYeaQz3Lt — Ziad (@ziad4pope) October 18, 2016 Why can't you just admit I was right? #AdobeSpark https://t.co/3UDlfL2cT4 — Ziad (@ziad4pope) Read More...

Hospitals don’t have the rainbow of directional lines anymore. In the days of butterfly bandages, sutures that didn’t dissolve, and nurses without accents, the admitting nurse would hand you a manila folder and you’d follow the Red Line to Radiology, the Orange to Oncology, the Purple to Pediatrics. But at Killer King, sometimes an emergency room patient tired of waiting to be seen by a system that never seems to care, and holding a plastic cup with a severed finger swimming in long-since-melted ice or staunching the bleeding with a kitchen sponge, sometimes out of sheer boredom they’ll slip over to the glass partition and ask the triage nurse, Where does that brackish-colored line lead to? The nurse will shrug. And unable to ignore the curiosity, they set out to follow a line that took Hominy and me all night to paint, and half the next day to make sure everyone obeyed the WET PAINT signs. It’s a line that’s as close to the Yellow Brick Road as the patients will ever get. Though there’s a touch of cornflower blue in the shade, Pantone 426 C is a strange, mysterious color. I chose it because it looks either black or brown, depending on the light, one’s height, and one’s mood. And if you follow the three-inch-wide stripe out of the waiting room, you’ll crash through two sets of double doors, make a series of sharp lefts and rights through a maze of patient-strewn corridors, and then down three flights of filthy unswept stairs until you come to a dingy inner vestibule lit by a dim red bulb. There, the painted line pitchforks into three prongs, each line leading to the threshold of a pair of unmarked, identical double doors. The first set of doors leads to a back alley, the second to the morgue, and the third to a bank of soda pop and junk-food vending machines. I didn’t solve the racial and class inequalities in health care, but I’m told patients who travel down the brown-black road are more proactive.
Paul Beatty—The Sellout

Are two types of jokes. One sort goes on being funny forever. Other sort is funny once. Second time it’s dull. This joke is second sort. Use it once, you’re a wit. Use twice, you’re a halfwit
Robert Heinlein—The Moon is a Harsh Mistress